Cake or Pie?: The Delicious Result of Miranda's Decision
by Hannanball13
Summary: Miranda has decided. And he's the perfect choice. He's so perfect, that even when she finds herself in a life-altering situation- the next nine months seem more like an adventure than an accident.


_**A/N: Hello "Miranda" fandom! This is my first fic, because I just discovered Miranda Hart! I love "Call the Midwife," and certainly enjoy her sitcom as well! I have yet to watch a full episode of "Miranda," but I decided to give this story a go, because I love the shows brilliance! I hope very much that you enjoy it! It may take a few chapters for me to really get the characters down! So, please, Happy Reading!**_

_**-Hannanball13**_

**KEY:**

_Italicized _**dialogue signifies, she's addressing the camera.**

Normal Font **is of course as is!**

"_I wish Gary would get home_, _I mean, I feel like he's been gone for ages!_" She sighs dramatically, leaning back on the couch with another huff. Her arms are crossed over her chest, her dress drapes over her knees, but the only thing covering from there down are her black leggings. "_You see, what happened after that whole escapade in the restaurant was… messy," _There's a pause, "_It was,_" she leans in, "_what I call, a disaster._"

Miranda gulps, looking reflectively to the distance, and then swings her long legs up so that she is lying on the sofa, her hand is shielding the overhead florescent light from her eyes as she prepares herself to give the story another go. Just this morning Stevie had told her she was looking, _airy- _whatever that meant.

She continues, "_My pups, it was quite a to-do,_" she shoots a glance toward us, "_It's not every day you find yourself in love with two men. Rather, it's not every day two men are in love with __**me**__,_" you can see her raise her brow. "_I should probably just get on with it._"

Miranda seems to want to make herself upright, but her strength fails, and she falls back to the cushions, where she forces herself to be content. She lays there, off-put by the bout of weakness, but is perfectly unfazed. Bouts of vertigo were a daily occurrence as of late, but it had only been a little over a month her health had been sustaining these episodes, so she chose not to worry.

"_I'm a fool for Gary. And I have an analogy to back myself up,_" a pleased smirk spreads across her lips, "_Gary is like this salivating, three layer cake with the strawberries and cream cheese frosting, and Mike, he's the chock full pie with the delicious whipped topping, but everyone who knows me, can easily determine that the cake is the one I go for every time_." She turns to shoot us a wink.

And then, her eyes glitter, her face lights up brightly, but there is nervous weight to the room as Gary's voice fills the entire flat. Her ears twitch, and she finds that formerly gone strength to push herself to her feet. She stands just a tad bit taller than him, but he's able to see that wonderful glint in her irises that everyone else cannot.

"Love, I'm sorry I'm late.One of the guests poured an entire drink down the bar, and it takes forever to wipe it up the right way so nothing is sticky," he says, pecking her ever so gently on her nose. She blushes gorgeously, and the rosy color in her cheeks is the perfect accessory to that unidentifiable glow about her.

He's looking at her differently- she can tell, and that makes her fumble for words. She sounds like a bumbling brute, incomprehensible to the curious man in front of her. "W-well, I-I, y-you, th-that's jolly good, love." She looks to him like she is guilty of something, and he gives her one, long once over, his observant pupils beating into every inch of her fiery hot skin. She can smell birch beer; it wafts tauntingly to her nostrils, and turns the already churning contents of her stomach.

She turns her head away from him as he tries to approach closer, her face is scrunched, her lips press tightly against each other, to halt anything that may want to pass. She manages to croak, "My goodness that birch beer smells ghastly!" Miranda nods in our direction searching for our agreement, and before Gary can open his mouth to respond, her stems are fleeting her to the loo. Her hand is clasped over her mouth, her knees are feeble, and she combats her body's attempts at knocking her to the floor. It was a long way down, and these days she wanted to UN-acquaint herself with the hardwood and carpeting. Gary is very close behind, so much so, his hand has been pressed to her back the entire charade, and his fingers pulled through her hair as she began to get sick. She was on her knees, retching, and he could only watch cringing, and soothing.

"That is some right nasty sense of smell, Miranda. I'm not sure that's normal," he said softly, her hair pulled back from her face, his fingers touching gently to her scalp. She sighs,

"This not being normal would mean I'm normal every other day of the week, and that Gary, I know- is false." She exhales, and Gary hands her a piece of tissue. She dabs the corners of her mouth, rolls her eyes, "Really, you can go, this isn't the most attractive of me."

He bends down, planting a kiss on the top of her head, "Through sickness and health, remember?"

And that, she does.

"I think it's about time I saw a doctor," she whispers, the back of her hand pressed to her forehead, which she was resting on the toilet seat.

"A doctor? Has it really gotten that bad?" he wondered out loud.

She looks up to him, aside from the dark circles beneath her newly bloodshot, watering eyes, she is radiant, "A doctor, yes, a medical professional, one who can stop the vomiting!" she groaned, "now please, get on out there and get me some ginger ale, or crackers, a light cake, perhaps…"

"Alright Love, whatever you say…"

And he leaves hesitantly, looking back once. She turns to us, after glancing out the door, she lowers her voice, "_I get it, the jig is up, my lovelies. Yesterday, after regurgitating…. That word is almost as satisfying as 'cusp,'_" she shakes her head, "_Stevie was a little worried… well more disgusted, really. Anyway, driving on to the point! I haven't been able to tell Gary, but under my own suspicions I headed over to the drug store for a special test," _Miranda pulls something from the cabinet just beside her. "_It's positive,_" she holds up the stick for everyone to see, a goofy smile is plastered on her face.

And then the smile dissipates, a frown replaces the grin upon her features, worry corrodes her expression, "_But, I haven't been able to figure out how to tell Gary. It's an awful lot, and the last thing I need is for him to have a terrible shock. And I'm afraid that's what this will be. We're forty years old, my lovelies. FORTY!" _she looks around, surprised at how loud her voice became and then, looks back. "_Anyway, I don't have any crazy or romantic way to tell him, but I'd rather not put it off. When could I possibly—_

"Miranda! We have no ginger ale, I'm going to go out for a spell to grab you some!" he pokes his head into the doorway. "You going to be alright?" he wonders sweetly, a forced smirk upon his lips.

"I'll be just fine!" she laughs nervously, "take your time!"

But, he doesn't leave. He's just staring. Then she realizes. The test is still in her hand, and foolishly she pulls it away, concealing it behind her back. It's too late. His expression turns rightly quizzical, and he steps forward, "what's that you got there in your hand?"

She grips it tighter, "Nothing, my Love. Nothing at all." She is well aware this is unconvincing, and cringes at us, and then looks back to Gary.

"No, really, Miranda, show me!" he says partially annoyed, but playful. He comes closer. Her heart skips a beat; he crouches down, and then kneels. His fingertip plays through a few strands of her hair, his eyes indulge her for a short, magical moment. She's entertained by the way his lips threaten to curl upward even though he was being utterly serious.

"I'm afraid I cannot. It's not for Gary eyes. Not at all. No way. Get on with yourself. I need that ginger ale!" she defends weakly. "Skedaddle! This instant!" Everything is said with one breath, but it only makes her a bit dizzy. So she exhales.

But, his gaze remains unbroken. She's about to burst. Her stomach flops, her sight is met with the toilet bowl, and it is unpleasant the violent ways in which she gags, she heaves. She's much too busy with her fit, and releases her grasp, to brace herself on the cold tile. The plastics hits with a seemingly deafening "clatter" and "clack" onto the ground. Miranda cannot stop the bile in her throat . Not even after he had the test in hand.

Finally, that worry turned to an all too obvious surprise. His eyes widen, his lips tighten, maybe in fear. He's scared, and he's showing no other signs of emotion. She groans, reaches up to the flusher, and executes the movement with much effort.

Now, his mouth is agape, and hers is too. Together, they face each other, gaping, wondering, and worrying. She swallows her happiness, because she starts to believe he'll be frozen this way forever.

"A little Miranda?" he whispers disbeliveingly, a bead of sweat trickling down from his smoothed back hairline.

She thinks about it for a moment, "Now, Gary. I think we both know not a soul has ever associated my name with that of the word 'little.'" Again her brow raises to emphasize her insecurity.

He grabs her hand, stealthily, but gently, and he pushes it to her stomach. She's somewhat taken aback, she's unsure, she's stunned. Miranda opens her mouth to say something, but chooses not to, as Gary is about to speak again. He applies pressure gingerly to her tummy, and seems to really take it all in, "That right there," he says softly. "That right there, I _know_, is a little Miranda."

_**Please review and tell me what you think!  
I hope you liked it!**_


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